Dark Adaptation
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Sam has some issues with the past and Dean. A flashback to their childhood, kinda drabblely.


**Notes:** Written awhile back. Digging it out to exorcise demons, maybe. :)

**Spoilers:** "Something Wicked", "Maleas Maleficarum", various Season 1, 2, 3 eps.

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**dark adaptation **_n._ The adjustments of the eye, including increased activity of rods in the retina, that make vision possible in relative darkness. (The American Heritage College Dictionary, 3rd Ed.)

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**"Dark Adaptation"**

Sam couldn't sleep... He'd spent a couple hours plodding away in front of his laptop, looking for some new gig to divert Dean and himself, but nothing was panning out, and he was beginning to get a stitch in his right shoulder.

Dean was asleep, so he'd thought it safe enough to come out here to breathe the fresh air, maybe get some perspective, without getting ribbed about it.

His brother... his brother was going to die because of him.

He swallowed back tears, tears that were partially full of anger, and stared defiantly up at the stars. The vastness of midnight-colored sky always seemed to calm him down a little bit, always seemed to put things into perspective.

_'When was the last time I prayed...?'_ He swallowed. _'God... I need Dean. I don't want him to go to hell... I need my brother. I still need him.'_

The sky and God were silent.

_'Where did I go wrong? Why am I always destroying everything? I try to fix it... and it just gets more messed up.'_

A memory flashed in front of his mind's eye. Dad... he'd been angry, yelling at Dean about something. About going out with friends. He was supposed to be at home, looking out for Sam. Home... what a joke--who wanted to stick around a musty, old motel, looking after their eleven-year-old brother?

Sam hadn't blamed him.

_"Dad, don't yell at him! I was okay by myself!"_

_"You stay out of this!" John retorted, furiously, and then pointed his finger at Dean again. "Where did you go, huh? To see a movie? You gonna choose smooching with a girl over keeping your brother safe?"_

_"Dad, I just," Dean retorted, sounding angry but not willing to make matters worse. He was so respectful to Dad, it made Sam feel bad everytime he forgot to say "sir." "Can't I have any fun? And it wasn't a date. I just went with some friends, that's all..."_

_"Yeah? I know you're lying to me, Dean, and I don't appreciate it. You leave Sam alone for who knows how--"_

_"It was just two hours! And I told him to keep the door locked, made sure everything, all the salt-lines were okay--he was _*safe*_!"_

_John's jaw clenched and unclenched. "You're grounded, y'hear me?" he demanded, then, as he grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door, he said, "I'm really disappointed, Dean. I thought you would've learned your lesson the first time."_

_The door had slammed, and Dean had stood there for a moment, looking a little stunned. Sam had tried to apologize, "Dean... I didn't mean..."_

_"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean exploded, and whipped around and headed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him._

_*_

Sam flinched, and covered his eyes with his right hand. He couldn't think about that. He'd never really understood it when it'd happened, but after what Dean had told him about the Strigha... He'd tried apologizing then, but Dean had brushed it off.

Sam had pretended to be asleep after Dean had gone into the bathroom. He hadn't wanted him to know he'd heard him sobbing in there. The next morning, Dean had been sullen--looking like he hadn't stopped crying after taking his "shower." Pink-rimmed, bleary eyes...

He'd yelled at Sam later that day. Sam didn't even remember why he'd been angry. He just remembered that it'd set him off crying, and he'd retreated to the bathroom in much the same way his big brother had the night before.

He rubbed his eyes and winced at the thoughts that wouldn't stop after they'd gotten one foot in the door of his conscious mind.

Growing up, on an average day, Dean would look after him--push him out of the way of a nasty spirit when he wasn't paying enough attention to do it himself, but sometimes, when he got ticked off, he'd up and smack Sam out of nowhere... not often, but more than once.

But the yelling was always worse. He'd hated it when Dean called him 'stupid.' He usually wasn't like that. He usually made sure Sam knew how smart he was, how great it was he was getting good grades on all his school work.

So when it started, Sam had thought it was because of the stupid, little reasons--annoying him with random trivia and prattle, not sharing a toy, for not being very friendly to prospective friends....

And later, in college, away from it all--father and brother--he'd started to think it was because of that night. Because it'd been his fault... because he'd gotten Dean in trouble.

Not that it made any coherent sense, but that was the nagging doubt that kept him awake at night. Jessica, when she couldn't sleep herself, would roll over in bed, take a long look at him and ask, "Sam, what's wrong? You can't sleep again?"

He'd smile, wanly, and tell her, "Have an exam tomorrow..."

And then Dean came back and it was the same story all over again--shoved up against the bridge railing because he'd said something thoughtless about Mom. Punched in the face because Dean didn't like what he'd said about Gordon...

But maybe Dean wasn't angry because of anything he'd said... maybe he was angry because of who Sam was.

The little brother, the one who was favored, the one who never got punished for anything. Even though,paradoxically, Dean was usually the one protecting him from being punished.

"Sam?" Sam looked up and saw Dean, standing in the doorway to the motel room, looking a little dazed and worried. "You okay?"

"I'm just stargazing," he lied, and Dean's eyes narrowed and he shut the door and took a seat beside Sam at the edge of the walkway in front of their motel room.

The parking lot stretched out in front of them, and sky hung overhead, like a high, high up ceiling. It felt closer than it was.

"You crying?" Dean asked, and yawned hugely.

"No," Sam lied. He'd been crying... a little.

"Liar."

"Dean, get lost." Sam's retort was defensive.

Dean was thick-headed tonight. "Not until you tell me what's up." He draped his arms over his knees and clasped his hands together. It was a little nippy out.

Sam shivered. "I don't want to talk about it."

They sat there, shoulder to shoulder for a long time, and finally Sam got up, abruptly, and went inside. He closed the door behind him, fell into bed, switched off the lamp Dean must have turned on to check on him, and lay there, wishing he could shut off his mind as easily.

Dean came in awhile later, and Sam heard him settling into his own bed.

His eyes had long adjusted to the dark by the time he went to sleep.


End file.
